


To Know

by FitzsimmonsForever



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: AU- Amnesia after season 1, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Post-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 03:06:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11591637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FitzsimmonsForever/pseuds/FitzsimmonsForever
Summary: “Fitz,” she mumbles to him as she presses kisses to his cheeks.For some reason this action makes him sick to his stomach, makes the memory of blue water flood through his thoughts. He wants to push her away but something stops him, closing his eyes.She knows him.But he doesn’t remember her.





	To Know

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sure something like this has been written before, but I wanted to try and put my own spin on it. This was written for the EnvB Spacetime challenge.... please enjoy *hides*

The first thing he sees when he wakes up is the most beautiful girl he can remember. 

Even as tears drip down her nose and onto her pale cheeks, even with her red eyes and trembling lips, she is the most radiant thing in the room. 

When she sees his eyelids fluttering open, her eyes widen and her soft crying stops, frozen in time. He blinks at her slowly, once, then twice, his arm lifting off the bed. Her hand reaches for his, warm fingers grasping at his skin, warmth seeping into his being, chasing the cold ice out of his bones. 

“Fitz,” she mumbles to him as she presses kisses to his cheeks. 

For some reason this action makes him sick to his stomach, makes the memory of blue water flood through his thoughts. He wants to push her away but something stops him, closing his eyes. 

She knows him. 

But he doesn’t remember her. 

 

She stays by his bedside, always there when he drifts asleep, there when he wakes up. 

He appreciates it, not having to wake up from the nightmares to an empty room, the kind girl stroking his cheeks, holding his hand, running her fingers through his hair. He wishes he could ask her what her name was, but the words wont come to him, leaving him with his mouth open, breath coming in short little gasps at the realization that he’s so broken, he can’t even _speak._

“It’s okay, Fitz,” she tells him. “You don’t have to say anything yet. I’ll always be here for you.” 

He falls asleep again with her hand against his shoulder. 

 

“…pen… pencil…” 

“That’s great, Fitz!” 

She sits cross legged on the little bed across from him, holding the writing utensil out in her hand. He stares at the small thing, the way the eraser has been worn down from use, the tip of the graphite broken off. 

The girl has been helping him remember his words, has been pointing at objects and saying what they are, asking him to repeat them. And slowly, he has been picking up on things again. 

The doctors say that part of his inability to talk had in fact been brain damage. But he can also hear them whispering to each other when they think he isn’t listening, when he pretends to be asleep. 

_“A lot of it is the trauma, I presume.”_

_“I’ll schedule a therapist to stop by…”_

Trauma. 

He wants to scream.

But the box under the sea took his voice and all he can do is lay there, tears dripping onto the white sheets. 

 

He debates not telling her. 

She is someone so nice to him, the sight of her face stirring up feelings from a past life that he doesn’t quite understand. 

There are other people who come to visit him, sure. A little asian occasionally sits by his bed and watches the news, presence silent but comforting. A bubbly girl often comes and chats about things that he suspected were important to him before everything, often throwing cutouts of monkeys from National Geographic magazines on his bed. There is a man who looks a little like a nerdy dad, always coming with little nicknacks to show him, little pieces of history that he finds interesting and often times a little bit frightening. 

But this girl, this brown haired girl with the brightest, kindest smile he has ever seen, is the only one that ever really stirs up what could almost be called memory. She has been so kind to him for all this time without realizing he didn’t even remember her. 

She deserves to know. 

But he is scared to tell her. 

“I…” he squeezes the word out and the girl smiles at him, squeezing his hand. “I… don’t-“ 

He can’t say it. 

Because once she knows, she is bound to leave. 

 

He learns her name is Jemma. 

The syllables feel strange in his mouth, even though he knows that they shouldn’t. 

He sits in front of a mirror while she takes a shower, saying the word over and over again until he can get it down perfectly, until he sounds like he has been saying it his whole life. 

Jemma. 

Jemma. 

_Jemma._

 

She takes him out to a restaurant once he is cleared from the hospital. 

He has to be wheeled there in a chair, legs still too weak to handle walking such a long distance.She is walking behind him, pushing the wheelchair along the bumpy sidewalk. 

“Isn’t it nice to be out again, Fitz?” she asks him with a grin, but the joyful sparkle in her eyes is clouded by something, an emotion that Fitz can’t quite put his finger on. “I’ve got reservations at that little restaurant we talked about going to all the time but could never afford. Coulson managed to talk them into lowering the prices for us.”

She continues to chatter away, but he isn’t listening. 

He has to tell her.

 

Their apartment is little, the living room barely the size of his room from back at the hospital. The couch pressed into the corner is a pale creme leather, facing a little black coffee table. 

She is sitting next to him on the couch and he has his arm wrapped around her waist holding her close to him. It’s the most brave he’s felt since he woke up from the coma, usually trying to hold her at a distance. 

It feels wrong to touch someone that you barely remember, after all, almost like you were trying to take advantage of them. 

But the restaurant had been nice and left him feeling brave so he lets her lean her head against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest. 

“I… I want t-t- to tell you something,” he says after a while.

She is looking at him, but he doesn’t look at her, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling fan overhead, watching them spin and spin and spin. His heart thuds. 

“What’s on your mind, Fitz?” she asks him. 

“I-“ he swallows. “I don’t r-r-remember us… before…” 

And it’s all he can say, the confession stealing the rest of his breath. He can feel his body start to shake. 

She says nothing, still leaning into him, and suddenly it’s all too much. He pushes her away from him, everything in his soul screaming at him to clutch tighter onto her. _But it’s for her own good, and she deserves better and_ he’s scrambling away from her, letting the sorrow durn into a fiery rage. 

“Why aren’t you _mad?”_

It’s funny how the anger sometimes steals his voice, but sometimes strengthens it, making him forget for a second that he is damaged. 

It’s not funny at all. 

“You should be f-f-f-“ he gaps. “… angry. Y-y-you should hate me!” 

He is crying and she just looks at him with tears in her eyes, shaking her head slowly. 

And he braces himself for the words to come, for her to stand up and walk away, leaving him forever like he knows he deserves. 

“Fitz, you think I didn’t already know that?” she asks him gently. “The doctors told me, Fitz. We all knew.”

_She knew and even then, she stayed._

He doesn’t push her away when she wraps her arms around him, pulling his face to rest in the crook where her neck met her shoulder. His body shakes and he cries and her stance is firm and she is his rock. 

“I love you,” he whispers into her hair brokenly. 

“I know,” she replies without hesitation. 

 

It gets a little easier after that. 

The guilt is still there, of course. The sleepless nights and nightmares still happen. But now he lets her comfort him, now he leans into her touch, knowing that even though he is different now, even though he can’t recall who they were, he still loves her and she loves him. 

He starts seeing therapists, one to help with his speech and one to help with his mental health. 

Jemma sometimes tells him stories of their old life, of the missions they used to go on. She tells him that he got honorable discharge from the service, showing him the paperwork from SHIELD. She tells him that if he wasn't there, then she didn’t want to be either. 

It hurts to listen to, but not because he’s sad. It’s a life that he can’t remember, but misses all the same. 

Sometimes people show up that used to know him; Coulson, May, Skye. They never try and guilt him into coming back, only letting him know that they love him and miss him and are glad he’s okay. 

He even remembers a little bit over time, not everything, but little things about SHILED Academy, about the team, about himself, about Jemma. 

There are good memories and there are bad, joyful days and ones filled with almost unbearable sorrow, times where he can’t stop laughing and times where he cries so hard he can’t breathe. 

But always, Jemma is there, helping him through everything. 

And a sentence sticks in his mind through it all, something he can remember telling her long ago and meaning with his entire heart. 

_You're more than that, Jemma. I just never had the courage to tell you._

_I'm doing what we always do. We're gonna fix this. Together._

_You've been beside me the whole damn time!_

And so they live. It’s not perfect. But they are together, loving, laughing, breathing. 

It’s perfect for him. 


End file.
